Burn
by day dreaming dreamer
Summary: He burns. He's never burned so much. It spreads on his skin and stings like ice. He's drowning in himself, and after every drink, he disappears to the bliss of numbness.


**burn**

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

 _"When will I learn? I push it down, I push it down._

 _One, two, three_

 _Drink._

 _One, two, three_

 _Drink._

 _Throw 'em back 'till I can't count."_

 ** _._**

 ** _._**

 ** _._**

Eren finally understood.

Long before, he looked at Hannes in disgust and revulsion. Any soldier that carried around a flask and would chug it was _weak_ , at least in his eyes. Weak and deemed unworthy to serve and fight for humanity. Nowadays, Eren found himself catching more and more of his comrades drinking. It was so common that it was a normality, an unlikely addiction, and never once was someone deemed an alcoholic. He had never liked the taste. It burned his throat, and would make his stomach churn. He liked being in control. He liked his senses to be clear; so clear that the path ahead of him was filled with daunting betrayal and bloodshed. He had only one goal in mind, and messing around with those substances would only make his goal even further out of reach. He was going to send the titans straight back to hell, and he would have no complications arise if he could help it. (Ha. _Complications._ There were so many not counting something as humane as alcohol that he didn't even know where to begin). So he repressed the temptation and ignored it. He ignored it when he caught the shiny gleam of a silver bottle situation beneath Jean's bunk. He ignored it when he saw Captain Levi pour an unknown substance into his tea, and he pretended never to have noticed Armin's stash of liquor he would have never expected the blonde to possess.

Days dragged on, life mingling in between blood and grief. There were fewer bright spots nowadays, not like his life in training. His soul ached for his fallen comrades, and their faces would countlessly flash in his mind. They would never leave him. Their deaths would attach themselves onto him, a constant reminder of the monster he was. The failure. Eren would never regret becoming a soldier, but he had realized a long time ago that he had underestimated the pain and torment that it would bring. He thought he had seen hell when he watched his mother get _stolen_ from him, thought he had experienced hell when his childhood home was in crumbles and blood and gore was in his reality, like a curtain of horrifying red being draped over him. He thought he had seen enough. That he would be prepared for what was to come.

No. That wasn't even close to hell. That was like a sliver of an opening to it. That was like looking through a foggy lens.

This, today, was _hell_. He was living it, every expedition, every death witnessed, every betrayal, and every time he became the monster he so detested. His sanity was gradually slipping away, like sand through his fingertips. He was grateful he hadn't spiraled lately. One wrong moment, one accident, and he feared his uncontrollable emotions would kill everyone and himself. Eren longed for relief. A singular moment away from the pain and paralyzing fear. Sleep would bring him to peace, but that was when he was fortunate. Mostly his unconscious mind dragged him to his nightmares, where he would countlessly revisit the countless deaths of his brother and sisters in arms, his _family_.

Alcohol seemed to provide (in the very least _, brief_ ) relief, and so eventually Eren succumbed to it.

He snuck a bottle from Armin during the day. Surely the genius would notice, but Eren knew his friend would make no comments towards him or about him regarding the absence of the whiskey. It would be too humiliating for the both of them. After all, what kind of soldier would drown their sorrows away? What kind of soldier was afraid of their own dreams? A pathetic one. He slipped it underneath his bed, much like how he saw Jean do it. Alcohol wasn't allowed, but it was. You couldn't be drunk and hammered during expeditions. That was just plain stupidity. Any other time during the night? Sure. Why not?

A last resort, he promised himself to the bottle as the sun slowly set. Mikasa would _kill him_ if she discovered his almost-new habit, although he had a sinking suspicion that she was doing the same, as unbreakable as she seemed. Nighttime rolled in. His body was immediately wracked with night terrors, and he scowled as a bead of sweat dripped down his forehead. His lip quivered, tears clouding his vision, and that only increased to his anger. Woken twice before dawn, terrified of his own mind. He glanced at the corner of his bed, itching for release. Anything to get these _feelings out of him right now because he can't stand it and he's afraid he'll do something terrible, awful, if he can't-_

He rolled over, grasping the tip of it tightly in his grip. Trembling, he brought the bottle up, unscrewing the top. It took him a few tries to get it off, but he managed. Then he threw it back, touching the brim of it to his lips. The taste was _vile_. He gagged, but forced it down. It burned the back of his throat, twisting his insides. He brought the drink away, gasping and spluttering. Disgusting. He wiped his lips and chin with his sleeve, taking a shorter sip. Then another. And another. The burn slowly disappeared, replaced by an overwhelming numbness. He couldn't feel, and it was _bliss_. He wasn't sure how long he sat there, just drinking and relishing the feeling of nothingness. Everything grew hazy. Minutes passed to hours. He was content in this world draped with nothingness.

Eventually, however, a knock resounded on the door.

His eyelids fluttered open.

"Oi. Jaeger."

He twisted his head to cast a glance at the door. A sweat droplet rest on his nose, (or was it tears?) and he swiped it away, sniffling. "Come in," he called, voice hoarse from sobbing and drinking. Under the normal circumstances, he wouldn't have allowed anyone to see him in such a state, but he couldn't think clearly. His mind was fogged over, but somehow the alcohol amplified his mood. He could still see them, their deaths, the bodies, the bloodshed, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He was too numb for that. Too confused.

Levi opened the door, overwhelmed by the stench of vomit and liquor. He took in the sight with bored eyes. "Shitty brat," was all he scoffed, stepping over the broken beer bottle that was clearly hurtled sometime in the midst of the night. "Never took you for such a lightweight."

Eren rubbed his temples with shaking fingertips. It felt like the night had continued throughout in a blur, a mixture of unconsciousness, sobbing, memories, and a mind tingling burning sensation. The back of his throat was dry, and his eyes were swollen. His head ached, pounding. His stomach churned with nausea, and he choked on the aftermath to the taste. _Smack._ Vomit. Vomit and alcohol and emptiness. Sunlight poured through the window, casting shadows against the furniture. "I keep seeing them," he finally murmured. "It's like they're burned into my mind, haunting me. I wanted to forget." A few tears ran down his face. "Just for a little bit."

Levi turned, casting him a meaningful glance. He opened his mouth to say something, but quickly fell silent. After a tense pause, he spoke. "You can't forget, understand? No matter what you do, you'll always remember them."

Eren cried harder. "I just wanted to save them, you know? Why are they dead and I'm not? It's not fair. I died, I should be dead, I should've stayed dead-" he broke off, incapable of continuing. His words were swallowed by more wracking sobs.

Levi approached him swiftly, looking down at him distastefully. That usual bored expression was donned, but there was something unusual with his frown. Eren stared up at him in confusion, still shaking and trembling like he had been caught in the middle of a winter storm.

"Put your hand on your heart, cadet."

He did so, perplexed by this odd request.

"Feel that?"

Eren could only hear the pulsing feeling of his heart pumping.

"That's called _purpose_. You're alive for a reason. Don't waste your life so pathetically."

"Sir?"

"I haven't the slightest idea how many flasks I've gone through since I've joined the legion," he said bitterly, looking down at his clenched fist. "It's not a good coping mechanism for always. You're passionate, Jaeger. Focus all that anger and remorse on training. Getting better. Getting stronger. Testing your limits and pushing forward. Only then after you succeed can you trouble yourself with regrets."

"Thank you," was all Eren could manage.

The door closed after a swift nod from the man he looked up to.

And then Eren was left alone to wallow in his thoughts, memories, and that aching pain that never seemed to leave his chest.

Still. Eren couldn't deny that his heart burned a little hotter that day.

* * *

 **A/N: Absolutely hate this oneshot, but figured I'd post it seeing as I haven't posted anything for a while. I've been stuck in a rut with writing for such a long time, so hopefully editing a few older stories will get me back on track.**

 **Reviews make me happy!**


End file.
